


their blood runs in mine

by inkedinserendipity



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Gen, and then we see him later, for reference:, he looks like such a cool dude, he's the one with the necklace, in i am moana, matai vasa is the chief that we first see in we know the way, the one who looks really epic atop the boat, who smiles and nods at her before yanking on the sail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinserendipity/pseuds/inkedinserendipity
Summary: Even heroes suffer from hero-worship sometimes.





	

The first twinge of exhaustion seeps in through Moana’s eyelids. She scrubs her fist across her eyes and whacks herself lightly on the wrist with the halyard before tugging it back in place, then winding it around its stake in a practiced knot. Securing the oar similarly, Moana hauls herself to her feet. It’s nighttime, and Moana hadn’t slept the night previous, either. Or the one before.

This is her own fault, she reminds herself ruefully. Sleep-deprivation? Just part of her and Maui’s nicknamed “Determination Training.” A crash-course, of sorts, for young Master Wayfinders who want to know just how long they can stay awake before collapsing.

So far it’s been two and a half days, and her previous record lands her solidly at seventy hours, so Moana reckons she’s got at least half-a-day left before her legs just collapse out from underneath her. 

In the spirit of motivating her to push through without help, Maui’d taken off somewhere in hawk form, promising to come back with all sorts of ripe fruits, jauntily naming them a reward. (Moana’s pretty sure he just wanted pineapple, he’d been griping about it for weeks beforehand. It was, Maui claimed, one of Motunui’s fatal flaws - no native pineapple groves.)

Which leaves Moana, the thoroughly exhausted Master Wayfinder reminding herself that this is a necessary part of maintaining her demigod-bestowed title, trying furiously not to fall asleep at the stern.

She lifts one idle hand toward the stars, checking her course for the tenth time in as many minutes, before realizing that she’d dropped it before actually measuring. With the weight of sleep pressing heavier and heavier against her eyelids, she stumbles toward the mast.

Moana selects a song from her mental catalogue, begins to hum. Her father’s song is the liveliest and she loves it, has loved it since she was a girl, but it feels out-of-place and forced on the calm seas so late at night. Next she tries her own song, and sure she can still see the line where the sky meets the sea, right over there beneath the carpet of stars, but it’s not...her. Now she knows how far she’ll go.

So she picks her grandmother’s song, chest thrumming with the first notes of a beloved melody. As she sings she remembers the knowing, loving glint in her grandmother’s eyes as she held Moana’s hand, just as she had when Moana was no higher than her grandmother’s knee, and guided her toward the unification of Moana the Chief and Moana the Voyager. Helped her discover Moana as she was. That Moana was still the young girl who loved the sea, still the young Chief who loved her people - not one or the other, both and the same.

That she is the Voyager Chief of Motunui.

Heh. Moana’s always liked that title. Has a nice ring to it.

She’s a handful of seconds into the beginning when she realizes that the pearlescent aura surrounding her canoe is not a product of her memory-hazed imagination. Then another half-second in which Moana wonders if she’s dreaming. Then, finally, the urge to turn around.

The man that stands on the other end of her canoe, feet at home and comfortable on the prow, is not a man she has met before. His ankles are wreathed in leaves of vivid colors, an arching  _tuiga_ settled comfortably on his head. He stands with his hands behind his back, watching her with a calm fondness.

There is a blue-whiteish hue shrouding his entire frame.

“Matai Vasa?” Moana asks, still kinda slow and sluggish, before her sense catches up full-force with her body and she falls into a kneeling bow. 

There’s this little recessed corner of her brain that is panicking because there’s a pretty good chance that she’s dreaming because this is  _Matai Vasa_  the first Master Wayfinder and Chief of their people and well, basically everything Moana wants to be as leader and voyager, but most of the rest of her is occupied kneeling in awe.

Footsteps creak along her boat, very real and tangible-sounding, and the impressive Chief stops before her with a small smile crinkling up the sides of his face. “Stand, young Chief,” he commands, and though it is no request there is warmth in his words.

She does so, torn between squealing because it’s _Matai Vasa_  and poking at him to make sure he’s real and pinching herself to ensure that she isn’t dreaming, and she’s pretty sure that all of those conflicting urges are meshing together to produce a really interesting expression on her face because Matai Vasa regards her with a twinkle in his eye like he’s laughing.

“It is an honor,” she says, willing her Chiefly voice to the front and trying not to think about just how true those words are.

“And a pleasure of mine.” The first Master Wayfinder has a face used to adversity, but with the light of humor still lit within it. “I am gladdened to hear that you are upholding our legacy, young Moana.”

A huge smile stretches across her face. “It is a legacy and a history that I am proud to share.”

Matai Vasa pulls her into a brief  _hongi_ , during which Moana’s brain entirely ceases to function, before pulling away regally. “There is none other to whom I would entrust the memory of my people.”

“Oh get on with it,” says a third voice exasperatedly, and Moana’s heart stops beating for a minute.

From behind the stately Master Wayfinder materializes an old, old woman, the same otherworldly sheen coating her body and a wry grin on her face. “If you two keep trading compliments like this we’re gonna be here until Te Fiti decides to end the world.”

“Gramma Tala?”

“The one and only -  _oof_ \- ”

“Gramma!” Moana exclaims, and doesn’t hesitate to wrap her grandmother in a huge hug. “It’s so good to see you, I missed you so much!”

“And I missed you too, Moana,” her grandmother exhales over her shoulder, and Moana can hear the same grin in her voice. “But look at you! All the way out on the ocean like you were born with your feet in the water. She does us good, eh, Matai Vasa?”

Her grandmother elbows the grand Chief with abandon, snickering. “I believe you wished our compliments to cease,” he says, so deadpan that it takes Moana’s tired brain a solid three seconds to process that this great Chief, this revered Master Wayfinder, is _sassing her grandmother._

“Hey, I’m allowed to compliment my own granddaughter,” Tala says, and a walking-stick materializes in her hands, “and there’s not a thing you can do to stop me.”

“Of course not.”

Tala whacks him in the arm with a walking-stick she doesn’t really need, then winks at an astounded Moana. “Oh don’t look like a pig that’s just been stuck, Moana. He seems all noble and chiseled, but he’s not. Just a big fluffball.” She hobbles closer, still not using her walking-stick for its intended purpose. “Don’t get him started talking about  _his_ daughter.”

“Tala, please.”

“There he goes again, ‘Tala, please’-ing me,” Tala grumbles into Moana’s ear, then shoots her yet another wink. Moana blinks after her. “Anyway, I believe we’ve got business to get down to, eh?”

Matai Vasa nods, once more every inch a Chief, like he hadn’t been whacked thirty seconds previous by an old woman half his size. “Moana, Voyager Chief of Motunui,” Matai Vasa addresses her, and joy shoots through her at hearing her title from his mouth, rekindling the spark in his eyes, “you have been entreated by the Goddess of Life.”

“For what?”

Gramma Tala hobbles back toward Matai Vasa, rests her hands on the handle of her stick, for the first time using it for its intended purpose. Her shoulders hardly come up to Matai Vasa’s chest. “Te Fiti’s got all the details, but basically, Elo’s acting up again and Te Fiti needs a certain irreplaceable duo to put ‘im back in his place before he destroys the world.”

Moana sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “Saveasi’uleo again?”

“Indeed.” Matai Vasa clasps his hands behind his back once more. “Another feat of saving the world for you to add to your tallysheet, young Chief.”

“So what is it this time,” she frowns, “Lalotai again, maybe a  _piwakawaka_  back for round two?”

Matai Vasa clears his throat uncomfortably. “You will deal with Saveasi’uleo himself,” he says, and the for the first time Moana wishes that she really were dreaming.

“Um.”

“It is an impressive task, what we ask of you.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s definitely very featly legendary-like,” she says, looking askance at him before reigning in her expressions. When she’s tired she has troublesomely little control over what her face decides to do when she’s not paying attention. “That’s...a lot more dangerous than our typical outing.”

“Yes.”

“And...probably deadly.”

“Indeed.”

Moana squints at Matai Vasa, wondering if this is another occurrence of his dry humor or if he’s just trying to soothe her worries. Then she decides it doesn’t really matter. This outing will give her and Maui something to do other than gripe about the lack of pineapple on Motunui, anyway.

She shrugs, because she’d rather deal with Saveasi’uleo than a Maui who knew she’d turned down an excuse to go ransack the Underworld. “All right.”

Maybe it’ll even be fun. The Underworld’s one place they’ve never been to. Moana’s survived Lalotai, how bad can Pulotu be, anyway?

Moana instantly tries to un-think that thought, because karma hates her.

Matai Vasa blinks. Gramma Tala laughs. “That’s the spirit!” she crows, cuffing Moana’s ear with enthusiasm. She’s smiling impishly, but a tad more serious as she pulls her granddaughter into a  _hongi_. “No dying out there.”

“I won’t,” Moana promises.

“Good. I don’t wanna see you again for forty years. Well, not up there, anyway,” Tala amends, waving her stick in the general direction of the sky. “Got that?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Good luck, Moana. You make it out alive and this old geezer might even let me head back out here to deliver congratulations.”

Moana laughs at that, half because the thought of anyone  _allowing_ Gramma Tala to do anything is ridiculous and half at the split-second look of affront that had flashed across Matai Vasa’s face at being called a geezer.

Tala squeezes Moana’s hands briefly, one last touch, before disappearing.

“Your grandmother is a handful,” Matai Vasa mutters, and once Moana shakes off the cold feeling on her palms that her grandmother’s absence left she nods in rueful agreement.

“That’s where I get it from.” Moana steps forward, bites down on an inappropriate yawn, and inclines her head toward him. “I was serious though. It really is an honor to meet you.”

“As was I.” Matai Vasa nods toward her in return. “Understand that I do not exaggerate when I tell you, young Voyager, that there are many in Tagaloa’s realm who would love to say as I do - thank you. We are blessed that you have worked so tirelessly to uphold our legacy.”

Okay, yeah, no amount of self-control is gonna be able to stop Moana from tearing up at that. She grins through it though, trying to convey all her pride and fierce joy that this man is one of her ancestors.

He fades, and leaves behind the silent sky and the fleeting impression of a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Learned that pineapples don't grow on trees, they grow in groves! Shoutout to MiaoG and Me+me for pointing this out, thanks guys. :)


End file.
